You put my heart into major chest hold
by Polly Little
Summary: "I'd wish you good luck, but we both know you don't need it." Gilbert watches Ezrebet at a judo tournament, and emotions run high. Genderflux Hungary, nonbinary Hungary


_**You put my heart into major chest hold**_

The room is huge, much huger than expected. Gilbert hadn't realised that this tournament would be from any of the others he'd attended, but unlike the tiny dojos all of Ezrebet's other judo fights had been in, this one was more of an arena, and it was absolutely packed. He'd never seen so many people in any of the previous tournaments, but clearly this one was more important.

"I'd've thought you'd have better things to do," Ezrebet teases, green eyes already glinting with adrenalin under the harsh white glare of the lights as she prepares for the tournament to start.

"Than watching my girlfriend throw people across the room? I wouldn't miss it for the world." He hands her a scrunchie with a grin and a wink, attempting to remind her of the time she'd tried to practice combinations on him with the bed as a crashmat and ended up only managing two or three before giving in and leaving him in scarf-hold while she kissed him senseless. Definitely a productive use of practice time.

"Partner," she corrects – no, /they/ correct him – but smirks at his flirtatious tone and accepts the proffered scrunchie, so he knows his intended message has still been received.

"I'd wish you good luck, but we both know you don't need it."

"You'll regret that if I lose," they warn, finishing tying their long hair back into a disturbingly neat ponytail (because when was Ezrie ever tidy?) and vaulting over the barrier with a grunt.

"Show off," he pouts, slightly jealous at the ease with which Ezrebet manages the sort of physical feats he'd only previously seen in spy movies against the backdrop of gunfire and violin crescendos.

"I know you love it really," they say.

"True," he has to concede, and then there's an awkward fumble as he goes to give them a kiss for luck and winds himself with the barrier, but hey, it makes Ezrebet laugh and alleviates the slowly mounting tension, so it's done its job. He watches them jog towards the centre of the mats where their coach is waiting with an impatient frown, chestnut ponytail bobbing against the stark white of their gi, then he goes to find a seat close to Ezrebet's first fight.

))))()((((

There's something strangely attractive about watching Ezrebet throw opponents sometimes twice their size into the mats, over and over again as he cheers them on. He knows Ezrebet's going to win, anything else is inconceivable, but even so he's still gripping the backpack with their change of clothes like a lifeline while he screams their name.

The fights go past like lightning, and before he knows it Ezrebet's thrown and dropped their way through their bracket and into the final with only a few actually painful bruises to show for it. There's a thud that would have made him wince if his partner wasn't so tough as they pin their opponent, and though Gilbert can see the effort it must be taking them from the way they bite their lip, he's ridiculously proud of the efficiency with which they counter any attempts at escape.

His heart thundering in his ears, he watches the pair struggle through holds that he knows have proper names, but to his inexperienced eyes all look equally inescapable. He's seen enough of Ezrebet's practicing that he's recognised a few moves so far – hip throw and chest hold and that one weird leg-hook Ezrebet used to stop their opponent's holds from being valid – but they're moving too deliberately for him to understand the strategy.

Finally the referee calls the end, and while Gilbert's certain that Ezrebet must have won, despite not understanding the Japanese all the rules have been in, he doesn't care, he's up on his feet and screaming their name in excitement, because that's his partner, that's his Ezrebet helping their opponent up even though they're both staggering slightly from the effort, and /he could not be prouder/.

"Gilbert! Gilbert, I won!" They come bounding over with the medal bouncing against their chest, and he's racing down the aisle with the cheesiest grin on his face as he reaches them.

"Yes! You did! I love you!"

Green eyes widen, and he suddenly realises that while he's been thinking it for weeks, he's never actually said that before. "Did you just say-"

There'd be no point in denying it even if he'd wanted to; the evidence is written all over his face.

"Yes. Yes I did."

And now they're kissing him, passion heightened by adrenalin and surprise, and he doesn't care how sappy he's being, because there's nowhere else where he'd rather be, and after they pull away, he says so.

"So, how long d'you reckon it'll take for you to recover?" Gilbert teases.

"Don't remind me," Ezrebet laughs, shoving him lightly before grabbing for his hand.

Their fingers tangled comfortably in his, he picks up the bag he'd abandoned in his rush to reach his partner, and together they head towards the door. And while he might not have been entered into the tournament, and knows that any of the contestants could pulverise him if they had a mind to, Gilbert feels like more of a winner than any gold medal could make him.

 **A/N: Written for Rainbow It Up In Here from Caesar's Palace, and bonny-and-blythe writing contest on Tumblr, but also because the genderflux tag on AO3 is pitifully small. There's a small glossary, if any other confusing terms were used let me know.**

 _ **Gi - the jacket worn for judo**_

 _ **Combination - a throw directly into a hold, if it goes well you have an advantage but if it goes wrong you can get kneed in the ribs.**_

 _ **"the weird leg-hook" - if you hook your leg around the leg of the person pinning you, it counts as escaping the hold**_


End file.
